


What Once Was Lost

by TheBananasaurus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Stucky - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6807346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBananasaurus/pseuds/TheBananasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve’s mother died shortly after childbirth and he was sent to grow up alongside Bucky in an Irish-Catholic orphanage. They quickly bonded from a young age, and became closer than brothers. They slept next to each other, bathed with each other, helped each other with bullies and homework, and, during a curious, innocent moment, shared their first kiss. A kiss neither of them spoke about ever again.</p><p>Now, decades later, the Winter Soldier attacking Steve on a highway in modern day New York City was discovered to be Bucky himself. Steve quickly incapacitated him and brought him to his safe-house apartment, where he hopes to somehow evoke their shared lives through any means possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Glimmer of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What They Took From Us: A Stucky AU RP](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700966) by [TheBananasaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBananasaurus/pseuds/TheBananasaurus). 



> [ **Author's Note:** _This is the cisgender (non-trans) version of New Territory, a cis!Steve/trans!Bucky fanfiction based off of "What They Took From Us," a trans!Bucky AU RP between myself and Rainb0wDawg of tumblr. It contains hella gay, hella angst, and hella fluff. Also, bro-ship between Natasha, Sam, and Steve. To read the other works, please visit my user profile: http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBananasaurus]_
> 
> [ **P.S. :** _Bucky's eyes in the comics are brown, unlike Sebastian Stan's, but the rest of the Avengers (save for Tony, if he makes an appearance later on) will appear just as they do in the MCU. Pardon the confusion!_ ]

Though he'd technically won the battle by knocking Bucky out and bringing him to his [safe-house apartment](http://www.qonser.com/2/living-room-wood-pillars-interior-design-pillar-decoration-in-living-room.jpg), with how his old friend had looked right through him and beat him half to death, it was clear he had another war to win. He had kept vigil over the stone-silent Winter Soldier throughout the night, forgoing sleep to simply sit on his sofa across the room from where the brunette was restrained.

The next day, however, after hours upon hours of agonizing nothingness, Steve had gone to change out of his combat gear and take a shower to get into something more comfortable - a sleeveless a-shirt and gray sweatpants. He’d cuffed the other soldier’s humanoid arm to his bionic one with high-tech SHIELD-issued meta-human containment cuffs, and wrapped a heavy-duty towing chain about both wrists before looping it around the pillar separating the entryway to his apartment, and the living room. 

So far, the restraints had held up… the first few hours after he’d come to, Bucky had screamed in twenty different languages and thrashed so violently against him that Steve had had to pop him in the temple before he broke his own arm off. After that? The second time the Asset awoke, he had all but shut down, like a machine with too much input it was unable to process.

The assassin sat, hunched over, his sweat-and-blood-tangled locks hanging about his war-painted features in a grimy curtain. His head hung between his shoulders that were forced into an uncomfortable raised position thanks to the way the Captain had pulled his arms behind his back, and legs were bent with the knees facing the ceiling. Still, he wore the military grade leather suit they had done battle in, and still, his heavy boots were planted firmly into the floor as if the barely conscious man would suddenly leap up and champ at his proverbial bit.

**"I uh... still use the same detergent, buddy. It's a miracle they even sell it,"** muttered Steve, chuckling with forced mirth as he came out of the laundry room with a fresh batch of linens to spruce up the couch cushions he'd lain on the floor next to his friend. A piss-poor excuse for sleeping arrangements, especially considering the assassin was physically incapable of lying down at the moment, but he was  _ trying _ .

 

He fully expected to receive empty stares and silence at best, or a string of curses or possible violent outbursts at worst. Thankfully, it was merely the former.

The Asset lifted his pounding head slowly as if it weighed fifty pounds and  _ glared _ with glazed, unreadable eyes from beneath the shadow of his brow and bangs. All that Steve saw there was seething bloodlust, like some rabid beast being kept from the hunt.

The patriot met those hollow eyes and swallowed past a lump in his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob. He bit back a sigh and lowered himself onto one of the cushions just out of arm's reach, then crossed his legs Indian-style before holding out the powder-blue sheet he'd been yammering about. 

 

**"How are you feeling? You ready for a change of clothes yet?"** he asked with feigned nonchalance.

**“...Why are you keeping me here? Who are you?”** came the muttered, defiant growl of the Avenger’s captive. Steve, not expecting that type of ‘answer’, but able to tap into his own training to over-ride some of the emotional sting, merely nodded and thinned his lips grimly. He gave up his offer of the clean sheet and simply left it in a vaguely crumpled heap between them. 

**“This is my safe-house. Everyone in the damn world is looking for you right now, Buck --”**

**_“Stop,”_ ** demanded the Asset, clenching his teeth and jerking his head to the side as if he’d been struck in the face.

The sun-kissed flesh between Steve’s brows formed a faint divet.  **“Stop what…?”** he urged, gently, as if speaking to a child on the verge of a tantrum and not a severely emotionally disturbed grown man.

The Winter Soldier cinched his eyes shut and blew a harsh breath from flared nostrils.  **“Stop pretending you _know me_ , dammit. Who the ** **_hell_ ** **are you?”** He shifted slightly to angle his entire torso away from the man tugging at the tenuous threads of his sanity, dragging the short length of the chain across the floor in a dull ‘ _ clinking _ ’ in the process.

Steve’s jaw tightened, popping out his temples… but otherwise, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. All he could think to do… was speak.

**“Steven Grant Rogers. Born July 4th, 1918, to Sarah and Joseph Rogers, Irish immigrants. My father served in World War I.... Killed in action. My mother died shortly after I was born of pneumonia. I got sent to the same orphanage you did, after your folks died. We were best f --”**

**“** **_Orphanage_ ** **…”** interrupted Bucky in a distracted, dream-like murmur, his agonized expression slackening as his lids peaked open to reveal slivers of chocolatey brown.  **“Where… Where was it?”**

Steve couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest flutter of optimism, but he was loathe to let it get a hold of him and give him too much hope when he knew how slim a chance he had of getting back his best friend just by stating facts about their childhood. That sort of thing… required a few years with a shrink, no doubt.

**“Brooklyn. New York City. The ‘Angel Guardian Home for Little Children,’ run by the Sisters of Mercy.’ It was a Catholic place, with nuns and priests. We hated it there, heh.”**

More humorless, contrived laughter. Steve was starting to wonder if that was his way of dealing with actual emotions - trying to laugh ‘em off. Like water off of a duck’s back, right?

**“S...Sister Mary…”** mumbled the semi-lucid prisoner, lolling his head up higher to meet Steve’s searching, stormy gaze. They finished the name together. **“Sister Mary Margaret.”**

In spite of his attempts to temper his enthusiasm, Steve’s lips quirked up on one side in that uncertain, boyish smirk he’d always head. As if the expression had triggered something in him, Bucky’s chest swelled painfully, and he… smiled back.

**“She was a stone-cold bitch, wasn’t she?”**

The Avenger’s brows ticked together further, deepening the crease between them until they very nearly touched, but his smirk deepened as well, dimpling the lifted cheek.

**“Dunno if I woulda put it that way, but yeah. She wasn’t good to us,”** he relented. A short silence bloomed between them, heavy with tension, but not… awkward. Both of them had things they wanted to say, they just didn’t know how. At length, however, Steve took in a short, steeling breath to expand the band of anxiety squeezing his lungs.

**“Ah… So d’you… Wanna change clothes? Or would you like a shower first?”**

Bucky’s smile faltered as he considered his options, then looked down at his torn, stained suit and the boot that had filled with blood thanks to Steve stomping on it.  **“A shower would be nice,”** he nodded, voice still soft. **“But…”**

Indicating his current predicament, Bucky twisted his torso back to face Steve and arched his back a little to uselessly jostle the chain he was attached to.  **“You’re gonna have to let me out.”**

Steve grimaced, though not because he hadn’t thought of this beforehand - the ever-swift mind of the Captain was constantly several steps ahead and had a contingency plan for nearly every variable. Unfortunately, the only variable he  _ couldn’t _ account for was the singularly most important one:

Whether this was  _ Bucky Barnes _ he was talking to, or the  _ Winter Soldier _ , playing at his memories to use them against him, just so he could escape and…  _ finish his mission. _

The smaller man angled his jaw up to meet the other super-soldier’s troubled eyes, noticing his hesitation. **“You don’t trust me. That’s… probably smart. I’m not gonna run, though. Not until I found out who the** **_fuck_ ** **I** **_am_ ** **.”**

The grimace on the Captain’s lips narrowed into a tight purse at the salty language coming out of his those cherry-red lips he'd always wished he had the balls to kiss. Bucky had always had a bit of a dirty mouth, growing up, but he’d never been this liberal with cusses around Steve, since he knew Steve wasn’t a big fan of ‘em. This… wasn’t Bucky speaking to him. But it wasn’t the Winter Soldier either. It was… somewhere in between. Tantalizingly close, yet achingly distant. 

_ Lord have mercy on my soul, _ thought Steve, closing his eyes and shaking his head once before flicking them open again.  **“Alright. Don’t try anything funny, buddy. I can have my team down here in minutes flat if I need them.”** Nat, Sam, and possibly Clint would likely be hanging around the perimeter still, actually. So, make that ‘seconds flat.’

Bucky nodded, unblinkingly keeping his attention on the man that was Steve Rogers, but… not Steve Rogers. Not the _punk_ he had flitting through the fragmented memories in his mind’s eye. This guy had his face (save that squared jaw), his voice… those  **_eyes_ ** … But that _body_ of his was definitely not anything he remembered.

 

...What was this _pain_ he felt? This isn't...

 

 _ No. Not now. Face it later, when you have more intel. I need  _ **_more_ ** _. _


	2. Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign. Nine. Homecoming. One. Freight car.

Taking in a breath and holding it in his chest, Steve shifted, scooting to the side around Bucky, before raising himself up on a one-knee kneel as he reached for the cuffs keeping his old friend trapped. The assassin leaned forward slightly to give him more room, and in the silence, the soft _‘click’_ heard when the Avenger pressed his thumb into the print reader seemed deafening.

After he unlooped the chain from Bucky’s wrists, Steve trained his eyes on him, tensing his entire body reflexively. He was ready to roll away and bound into a fighter’s stance if the Winter Soldier suddenly made an impromptu reappearance…

But, he didn’t. Instead, Bucky rolled his shoulders, causing the inner workings of his bionic arm to whir softly, and brought his wrists in front of him to massage the flesh-and-bone one.

**“Thanks,”** he muttered, barely audible. Part of him was _screaming_ to lash out, to escape. His mind grappled against itself, conditioning against  logical thought and emotion.

_The mission is incomplete. The target has not been eliminated. Abort and regroup. Abort and reg-_

**“Don’t mention it,”** replied Steve, finally releasing the air that had started to burn in his lungs in a silent exhale. **“Lemme help you up.”**

 Bucky glanced up from his own flexing fingers to stare vacantly at Steve for several seconds, not reacting to the hand reaching out to him, offering  aid  when none was expected. No one ever helped him. He was always on his own, even when surrounded by other HYDRA operatives and scientists.  Always alone.

 Steve’s forehead creased with mild confusion and concern. **“Bucky…?”**

** **

The name sent another ripple of agonizing ache through the soldier’s chest, and his own brows ticked together. It took him another several seconds of staring, trying to make sense of the face looking back at him and all the complex feelings tearing him apart. At length, he broke the eye contact to grip the open hand, parting his lips to croak a halting question out past the inexplicable lump in his throat. **“What’s… What’s my real name?”**

The Captain grunted softly as he pulled them both into a stand. **“James. James Bucha-** **_oof!_ ** **Y-you alright?”**

As soon as he’d put weight on his busted foot, Bucky had gasped and stumbled, all but collapsing into the slightly larger man, forcing him to splay his palm over one of Steve’s serum-enhanced pectorals. Steve caught him under his metallic forearm before he fell further.

**“I’m fine. Thanks,”** mumbled the brunette, simultaneously horribly embarrassed for accidentally copping a feel, ashamed he couldn’t stand on his own, and both jealous and impressed by the patriot’s physique.

Steve frowned, dubious, and ducked lower to swing the bionic arm up and drape it about his corded shoulders. He was, as was usually the case, entirely oblivious to the effect his body had on others.

**“I got you,”** he whispered, looping his own arm about Bucky’s waist. **“C’mon. Guest bathroom’s just down the hall. Sorry about your foot. And your leg. And arm. And throat, and head. Just… um. Sorry, in general.”**

Indeed, as Bucky begrudgingly accepted the Avenger’s help, twinges of varying levels of pain from his injuries elicited a tight grimace and hiss between clenched teeth. Beyond his broken foot, he had deep-tissue contusions in his leg from having that vibranium shield tossed at him to knock him off his feet, a hairline fracture in his wrist from having Steve squeeze it to dislodge the knife in his grip, a massive headache from several punches to his temple, and countless bruises along his jaw, stomach, arm, and throat from being punched, kicked, thrown, and choked (in that order).

Of course, Steve also had a fair share of battle wounds; the dagger and bullets left their marks in his thigh, arm, and shoulder, but he was far more careful about injuries than a brainwashed assassin that neither valued his life, nor his body. Plus, he’d already tended to them, and they were well on the way to healing.

Right now, Bucky wanted to know more about his own _mind_ , thank you.

**“I-I’m** **_fine_ ** **,”** he repeated, a tiny bit gruffer than he meant. The pair of them started hobbling to the bathroom. He wasn’t going to let his obnoxiously broken body get in the way of his _new_ mission that easily, however. **“...What’s my name?”**

Steve averted his gaze to the floor, ostensibly to keep track of their feet to keep them from falling over one another, but in truth, he was finding it difficult to look into those savagely gleaming pools that had taken the place of once warm, spirited, puppy-dog brown eyes. Eyes that he'd looked to for comfort so many times...

**“James Buchanan Barnes. But you never liked your first name, so everyone called you Bucky,”** he replied, removing from the sentence as much intonation as possible so as not to belie how much speaking about this, reminding Bucky who was he, was twisting his gut strangely.

_And, sometimes, I called you ‘Buck’..._

The Captain bit back a terse sigh, causing the other man to glance up questioningly through the tattered, bedraggled curtain of his hair. Steve was doing his damndest to stay strong, provide  literal and figurative shoulder to lean on… but in spite of all the physical discomfort wracking Bucky’s body, the sheer crushing weight of the unspoken words hanging about his lost friend was at the forefront of his mind. They’d made it to the guest bedroom and crossed the threshold just as the assassin kept pressing for more information, wary of the tension between them, but deciding the chance to know more was worth possibly upsetting the Avenger further.

**“Could you… do you know where I was born? Or… anything else?”** he prodded, tentatively.

Steve canted his head at an angle to finally regard Bucky with a somewhat distracted, windblown expression. His answer came in the form of a soft monotone, as if he were simply supplying the information for clarity’s sake instead of keeping his tempered optimism carefully concealed.

**“Shelbyville, Indiana. On March 10th, 1917.”**

**“1917…”** repeated Bucky, turning his eyes away as the numbers jumbled into that horrible trigger sequence flashed through his head.  _‘One. Nine. Seventeen.’_ HYDRA had used things about his life against him, to control his mind by twisting memories of the past. Every single word in it held meaning for him.

**“F-f...freightcar,”** he sputtered suddenly, free hand clutching his chest as it tightened abruptly. _No. No. Nononono…!_

 Forward momentum came to a halt and the blond tightened his grip around his friend’s waist to keep them from tumbling over, but as he  turned his face to square both eyes on the troubled soldier, Bucky loosed a guttural _scream_ and pushed away from him.    

**_“NO!”_ ** roared Bucky, features twisting in mental anguish. He  gripped Steve’s shoulder and stomach and _shoved_ with all the  power of an enraged bull threatened with the fate of being locked within his pen again.

_Not again. No, please, God -- not again!_

**“Bu--?!”** Steve cried out, alarmed.The sound of his lifelong friend’s tortured shout hearkened back to the very worst day of his life, wrenching his innards as if icy claws had skewered him and were now ripping him to bloody shreds.

Both veterans of war and strife flung apart, with the patriot **_slamming_** into the open door of the guest room, splintering it with a dull ‘ ** _crack_** ,’ before he fell to his rump with a ‘ _huff_ ’ of air forced from his lungs. The assassin, however, staggered blindly, clutching his head and clawing madly at his temples as if the horrors within could be rent from his very flesh. His bum foot gave out beneath him and he collapsed to his hands and knees.

**“Wh-what… happened… on the train?”** came his faltering whisper, the words shuddering out from him as every muscle and tendon in his war-torn body trembled. He couldn’t move, much less lift his head to look upon the man that had haunted his waking nightmare for decades. Like a ghost, flitting in and out of his field of consciousness - within reach, but intangible… Why did looking into those seafoam eyes make him _ache_ with...

_Longing_ _?_

 


	3. Checking In With the Team

The train. Steve had had that moment play out again and again in his dreams at night, waking him up in a pool of his own sweat with the bedding torn to shreds… or rendering him momentarily mute when something triggered the memory in his waking hours.

_ The wind bit into his flesh and tugged on his uniform as he gripped the side of the car. He reached out to Bucky as that bar he clung to started giving way, but no matter how much he stretched out for him, no matter how close his fingers felt to saving his friend, the bar gave way, and a frozen spike was driven straight into Steve’s chest as he watched Bucky’s widened, terrified eyes and heard that searing wail as he slipped away... _

**“Y-you…”** he began, but his voice was so quiet, it was difficult for even _him_ to hear. He gulped in air, trying to force it into his lungs, as he slid his leg beneath him and eased onto his feet. As hard as this was for _him_ , though, he couldn’t even imagine the horror Bucky had gone through.

**“We were fighting, together, and you... fell. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t reach you in time,”** Steve finally said, forcing it all out.

**“I… f-fell…”** echoed Bucky, body growing still. **“And… and then** **_they_ ** **found me…”**

Steve didn’t want to say the word, lest it upset the other man further, but it had to be said. He had to be sure _they_ were the ones that had done this to his best friend. “ **Hydra…”**

It was then, with the most imperfect timing _imaginable_ , that Sam’s voice called out to him from down the hall.

**“Cap?!”** Falcon shouted, his heavy footfalls echoing as they drew nearer. **“You alri-- o-oh.”**

Sam, semi-decked out in his jetpack, with his goggles pushed up onto his forehead, appeared in the doorway, only to hesitate awkwardly as he took in the sight before him. Steve had stood up and taken a single step towards the assassin, one arm outstretched, while Bucky still trembled on all fours. The door behind the Captain was completely destroyed, so there had obviously been some sort of struggle.

**“What happened?”** he asked softly, wary of the Winter Soldier’s reaction in this state.

 Steve glanced at him through the side of his vision, but reverted his attention back on Bucky even as he replied to his team mate. **“We’re fine. Everything’s fine, Sam. Thank you.”**

 The other Avenger raised a brow dubiously and jutted his chin at the busted door. **“That sure as hell doesn’t look ‘fine’ to me, man. You sure we should be keepin’ him here like this?”**

 In Sam’s humble opinion, the guy was in serious need of a therapist and heavy drugs, at the very least, or some time in mental detox in a reinforced, padded room, at worst. Steve could definitely hear a little judgement in his voice, along with quite a lot of concern. He wasn’t entirely sure the concern was aimed at Bucky, either.

**“He’s my best friend. He always had my back when I needed him. He remembers some things, and I’m just… Just gimme some time. I know what I’m doing,”** he replied sternly, taking a commanding tone as a grown man and leader of the Avengers, despite the uncertainty to his phrasing. Another step was taken towards the as-yet silent ‘prisoner,’ before he evaluated his body language and deemed it safe for him to kneel next to him.

 Sam raised his hands, palm-out, indicating his acquiescence. **“Alright, Cap. Just be careful, s’all I’m sayin’. Everything’s fine on our end so far, by the way. Clint’s taking a breather in his room and Natasha’s listening for any chatter over the radio. If you need me, I’ll be pulling air patrol."**

Wait, that meant that Steve hadn’t heard _any_ of them coming and going as they switched shifts. Had he been that absorbed in Bucky’s welfare that he’d completely lost his situational awareness?

_Jesus._

**“Good. Thanks, Sam. Tell the team I’m making progress with hi--”**

**_“HEY,”_ ** barked Bucky suddenly, cutting Steve off and eliciting simultaneous sharp intakes of breath from both Avengers. **“Do me a fuckin’ favor and stop talking like I’m not** **_here_** **.”**

The three of them fell silent, save for Bucky’s ragged breathing forced through clenched teeth. Sam broke the pregnant pause with a clear of his throat.

**_“Ehem…_ ** **Ok, then. Sorry, dude. You can uh… have Clint’s room. I’m sure Nat won’t mind doubling up with him. I’m just gonna… go,”** he trailed off, jerking his thumb over his shoulder before promptly turning on heel to vacate the palpable tension in the area.

**“Fine,”** spat the agitated super-soldier. As if he knew who any of those people _were_ . As if he _cared_.

Steve tentatively slid his hand over Bucky’s shoulder and, when the latter didn’t flinch away, the former looked up to Sam. **“Thanks,”** he said again, lips twitching up into a tense, forced smile for a half-second.

By the time Sam answered, he sounded as if he were already down the hall and in the foyer. **“** **_Nooo_ ** **problem, Steve!”** he called back. The front door was opened, then closed and locked. For the most part, the two war heroes were, once again, alone.

As soon as he heard the tumblers of the lock closing, Bucky let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. He tried to focus on the flashes of memory intruding upon his thoughts, tried to grab onto each in turn and hold it in place so he could analyze it in excruciating detail.

_Blood, staining the pale snow in lurid contrast... His own screams, sounding foreign and detached, as what sounded like a buzzsaw hacked into the shredded remains of his arm… The pain had been intolerable… He’d blacked out again almost immediately…_

 

_...Waking up and looking at his new bionic hand, and the scientists beyond that had “gifted” him with it…_

 

_...Being thrown into a steel coffin with a see-through pane, reaching out to the HYDRA doctors as freezing cold air flooded the chamber, seeing his own reflection as his flesh crystallized…_

 

**“Bucky…?”**

The Asset sucked in a breath and blinked as he raised his head. Through the grungy, gossamer curtain of his bangs, he watched as Steve tilted his head doggishly. He became aware of the hand on his back, and slowly lowered his backside onto his heels as he allowed the modicum of comfort the innocent contact provided to filter through the haze of anger and fear.

**“Whatever…”** he muttered, swallowing. **“--Whatever they did to me before you found me… on the base, with the others… Whatever they did helped me survive the fall, but…”**

He paused, bringing his metallic fingers before his eyes again and curling them into a loose fist. Steve tensed beside him, but as Bucky raised his eyes to meet the Captain’s gaze, the tension shifted from that of preparedness for an oncoming attack, to that of a man trying desperately to reach out in any way he could.

**“I’m… I’m so sorry, Buck,”** he croaked, at length. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed past the knot in it. **“If I knew there was any chance you’d… I would have…”**

Seeing the redness in the rims of Steve’s eyes, and the way his nostrils flared, Bucky suddenly recalled looking down into this exact same expression whenever the little punk got himself into another scrap.

He was… holding back tears. The realization made Bucky’s own throat tighten even as he offered a weak half-smile. **“I know, Steve. I know you woulda come back for me if you knew,”** he murmured. **“But I’m… I’m here, now. I’m home.”**

_Homecoming…_

The assassin winced and tore his gaze away as another word of his sequence fell into place within him, causing Steve some alarm. The blonde canted his head in the other direction, endeavoring to keep eye contact.

**“Hey,”** he whispered, squeezing Bucky’s in-tact shoulder. The affection, while entirely platonic, made the smaller soldier’s stomach flutter. **“It’s good to have you back, buddy. I missed ya.”**

Once more, Bucky lifted his eyes to carefully gauge Steve’s expression, but as he did so, Steve saw in his a questioning, almost _pleading_ curiosity. He’d never seen Bucky with such need in his eyes… such naked, brazen desperation. When the brunette’s tongue poked from between his lips to moisten them, Steve’s attention was stolen by the flushed, cherry-redness of them, and the way even watching that tongue tightened something at the pit of his gut.

**“Buck…”** he began. But whatever he had been about to say after that was unceremoniously smothered as Bucky leaned in close and _crushed_ those wonderfully plush lips against his. The suddenness of his most closely hidden dream coming true momentarily rendered his mind blank and body rigid, and by the time he closed his eyes and started to raise his other hand up to reach for his friend’s face, the other man was already pulling away.

He tried to extend the kiss by stretching out his neck, but their lip-lock broke, regardless, with a luridly wet, suckling noise.

**“** **_Ah-uhm_ ** **… S-sorry,”** breathed Bucky, dark lashes brushing his face as color rose to his cheeks. **“Wow… I… can’t believe I just did that.”**

He chuffed with nervous laughter and reached up to sweep his bangs out of his vision, tucking them behind one ear. Steve, wide-eyed and windblown, was still trying to process what had just happened, but he sure as heck didn’t want Bucky feeling _bad_ for it.

**“I’m… really glad you** **_did_ ** **,”** he admitted. A small surge of bravado filled his chest, and he closed the gap between his palm and Bucky’s stubbled jaw.

Bucky’s lids flung open and the embarrassed smile that had stretched across his features fell slack. **“You… you are?”** So he wasn’t gonna punch him in the face for it then, at least. And here he thought getting fresh with another man, especially Steve, with all his issues in needing to prove his masculinity to everyone, would warrant a knuckle sandwich.

In fact, though the Captain wasn’t entirely certain that kiss had meant as much to Bucky as it had to him, he was utterly jubilant. **“Yeah,”** he said softly, lids hooding low over eyes that had abruptly grown soft. **“I am.”**

It was so wrong of him, to want to keep going. He wanted to take Bucky in his arms and drown him in kisses, tell him how much he had always wanted him… When the Winter Soldier was still in his head somewhere. Still a part of him, likely eating away at him. It was a terrible thing, to want so badly to dump all his unrequited feelings on the man, when what he _needed_ was time to heal.

Drawing on his wells of self-control, Steve inhaled slowly and nodded, trying to hold on to his resolve to do the right thing even as Bucky was achingly close and appearing to teeter on the edge of uncertainty. **“Let’s get you a bath, pal.”**

Far from looking crestfallen, a strange light appeared in the assassin’s eyes as his mouth quirked up on one side. **“Sounds good to me,”** he returned, inexplicably eager.

Oblivious to what possibly predatory thoughts were going on in the other man’s head, Steve could only reply in turn with a flash of his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _ **Author's Note:** Holy moly, I am SO sorry that took that long! The image searches really suck me in, I tell ya. Should I quit doing those and just hammer away at chapters? Maybe once I post, people can send in GIFs and pictures they think fit in the comments, and I'll stick 'em in there._
> 
>  
> 
> _What do you guys think?_
> 
>  
> 
>  _Also, am I so wrong for wanting to turn this into an OT3 fic? I love me some Sam-Steve-Bucky... OH WELL! Don't worry, faithful Stucky shippers, I'm sticking to the script for this one. ;)_ ]


End file.
